


Language Barrier

by egggs, gallifreyanlibertea



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Clueless Alfred, M/M, Scouser Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 14:46:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10538658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egggs/pseuds/egggs, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyanlibertea/pseuds/gallifreyanlibertea
Summary: Alfred has just moved to the Formidable Country of England and tries to ask a native out on a date. However, it seems like there might be a bit of a language barrier.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [egggs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egggs/gifts).



> Based on conversations with a very British egggs.
> 
> This is also another reason why we should not be allowed to collab. 
> 
> If you have any questions about anything said by Arthur, you’d have to ask her because honestly, I have no idea. All of Arthur’s dialogues were provided by her :^)

Alfred squinted down at his map, with the paper all crumpled and folded from being shoved haphazardly into his raincoat pocket.

He had no idea where he would go next, but he supposed the people around him would judge him less if he looked like he did.

Oh, those beady British eyes. Unwanted attention seemed to follow him every wrong turn he took, to every pole he ran into while he was too busy deciphering the winding lines and tiny print of the map. England was a dangerous, hostile, and frankly judgemental place. Nothing like the comparatively warm and welcoming arms of the U.S.A he’d left behind.

“Oh jeez-”

The wind wasn’t a help. The howling horror left him with a daunting choice and It was either the map or the umbrella. He chose the umbrella. The decision tore his only piece of sanity amongst the confusion that was England from his hands and left it soaking in a puddle at his feet.

Alfred clutched his umbrella to his chest and accepted defeat.

The Formidable Country of England: 1, Foreigner: 0.

He supposed that at that point there was nothing left to do but sit on a damp bench and contemplate life. Unsurprisingly, even that brought about a whole shiver of paranoia.

Alfred tiptoed towards the sheltered bench in front of him, pretending he couldn’t feel those cold British eyes on his body. Just his luck, he tripped a bit on his way to the seat, casting a sheepish look at the stranger he had sat a fair distance from.

“Uh, hiya!”

Alfred immediately regretted the greeting.

Green eyes peered at him over the top of a book, seeming to scan over his obviously American psyche before glancing back down.

Okay.

Alfred did a little scanning of his own. Blond hair, surprisingly dry considering the downpour, sat atop a pale head, with lips slightly downturned and a posture straight and regal.

He was kinda cute. Alfred registered this realization as he closed his umbrella and left it at his feet, unconsciously mimicking the posture of the guy beside him. There was no harm in a little fun to take his mind off of the travesty that was a completely different nation, right? Alfred himself wasn’t too bad to look at. It was worth a shot.

“So, this weather, huh?” He found himself saying with a laugh. The man glanced up with brows raised, an expression that soon grew into a strange smile. It was not quite as polite of an expression as it was a smirk.

Alfred mirrored a smile. Perhaps he could ask the guy out for a quick cup of coffee? Maybe score a date as well as some directions?

“Yeah, fuckin’ pissin’ it down, innit, mate?” The stranger nodded absentmindedly, “Chuckin’ it down, I tell ya.”

Oh.

Alfred furrowed his brows. 

He was a man in a strange land, stuff like this was bound to happen! It just took him by surprise, that was all. He would get used to it.

“Yeah, it’s real chilly!”

The stranger stared, nodding as if he understood after Alfred made the motion of hugging himself.

“I just moved here.” Alfred explained, “You from ‘round these parts?”

“Yeah.” The man agreed and Alfred let himself smile. Before he could follow up with anything, however, “Ain’t no woolyback or posh twat if that’s what you’re thinking. From L’pool, I am! Not the Tocky, though.”

He laughed at that and Alfred chuckled along as if he understood exactly what was going on. It was one of the few things he picked up in his high school drama class.

“So, you know a good coffee place-”

Perhaps Alfred was too quiet.

“I was a bit of a scally, terrored the bizzies, I did.” The stranger interjected with an earnest nod. He then looked at Alfred intently, as if expecting a response.

Alfred almost choked. “What?”

“Y’know, like, peelers, the bobbies.” He then paused, turning to Alfred with an expression of angelic innocence. “You?“

“Oh, yeah, the, uh, bobbies, haven’t met ‘em.” Alfred cleared his throat, “Uh, about that coffee-”

The reply tore a laugh out of the native and Alfred felt his cheeks flush hot in contrast to the cool, rainy breeze. “Asked you a question, mate, innit?”

It took a while to register what the man had said, and when the minute had passed, the confusion remained.“Wh- where I’m… from?”

Alfred asked the question reminiscent to how one would approach a toddler. The stranger nodded in agreement, lips stretched over a toothy grin. Despite the pure torture the guy was putting Alfred through, he couldn’t deny that it was a nice smile.

“Oh, I moved from California.”

When the stranger squinted, Alfred felt compelled to include some hand gestures. “You know, moved-” a finger-walking motion, “from California, a state?”

“S’that near Texas or somethin’?”

Alfred’s shoulders sagged, “Sure.”

It had become less about a date and more of a personal effort to assimilate. Who knew such a surprisingly strange culture existed in England? 

The stranger went back to reading his book and Alfred blurted.

“I’m Alfred.”

The man glanced back up again and Alfred waited patiently for a response. When he was met with something of a blank look, however, he reiterated his unsaid question a bit slower.

“What’s your name?” A pause. Then, “name?” repeated with a point to the stranger’s chest.

“Arthur,” Arthur said with a polite smile.

“Well, Arthur, nice to meet you!” Alfred said with a laugh, “Know a place I could get some coffee?”

Arthur’s lips parted and before Alfred could give him a chance to talk his ear off again, “I was hoping to take you out, yanno, get to know you?”

Straight to the point, leaving no space for misconception. However laid-back it seemed to Alfred, it killed any words Arthur had meant to say right on his tongue. Eyes were wide and unblinking, as if the prospect of being asked out on a date by some stranger was hard to believe. Alfred felt a panic rise in his chest, was that not something that was done in England?

Boy, was he unprepared.

“Or tea! If you prefer tea better, that is. I thought since I just moved, and-”

The startled expression was gone as fast as it came. Arthur’s brows furrowed in what seemed like anger, “Hold it, you wot, mate?”

The words were so assertive, so offended. Alfred made a noise akin to a squeak that he was quick to cover up with a broken “huh?”

“I already said I ain’t no posh twat, you onto?” Arthur recrossed his legs rather ferociously, peering back into his book with an air of dismissal, “Just ‘cause I’m some British born lad don’t mean I’m up for no PG fuckin tips, or fuckin’ Lipton shit n’whatnot, you absolute pisspot.”

Though it took long comprehend at least three words of the rant, rejection was a universal language.

“Oh, um, I’m sorry, I-”

Alfred twiddled his thumbs, deciding on taking his leave to spare any dignity he had left. Of course, he had no idea what he’d said to insult the guy- nor what the guy said in response, but anger was anger and it only served as a lesson for him to invest in a dictionary.

Alfred opened his umbrella. “Sorry about that.” 

A pause.

“Wait, hold on.”

He was reluctant to stay. Even if what were to follow was an apology, he most likely wouldn’t understand a word that was uttered.

Alfred turned to find Arthur toying with the pages of his book rather sheepishly. Green eyes traveled up to meet his and Alfred braced himself for the incomprehensible flurry of words to come.

“I know a place somewhere walking distance, but we’ll have to wait out the rain.”

Oh.

Alfred didn’t know what his face looked like, but he assumed it was something akin to a fish out of the water.

“Wait,” A mouth opening to speak, and closing to think, and opening, and closing, with eyes wide behind the frames of his glasses. “You can… you-!”

“Oh, can it,” Arthur muttered before tucking a bookmark in the crack of his book and letting it fold shut on his lap. “It’s not always that I get the opportunity to mess with a cute, clueless Yank.”

The Slightly-less Formidable Country of England: 2, Foreigner: 0.

And judging by the impish smile that followed Arthur’s lips, there would be a lot more tipping in that balance.


End file.
